


Remembrance

by espritneo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Shy Katsuki Yuuri, terriblyconfused!Victor, victor needs hugs, yuuri adores victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espritneo/pseuds/espritneo
Summary: Set during this season's post-GPF banquet in Barcelona and asks, what if having a glass or two of champagne jogs Yūri’s memory of dancing in Sochi?
 
  Yūri’s quiet and speaks only when necessary. Victor wants to turn, see his face, know what he’s thinking. At the same time, he feels loved and adored and he doesn’t want to stop. Usually, it’s him that can’t stop trying to touch the flighty Yūri. But it seems the tables have turned tonight and maybe, for once, Yūri feels the same thirst for constant contact.





	

For once, Yūri is smiling wide, eyes helplessly awed and adoring. But there’s something different about him. Victor feels his breath hitch.

Yūri  _remembers_.

Suddenly the room is too hot. Blindly, he throws back the rest of the flute and the cool drink helps him regain his composure. By now, Yūri has reached him and Victor finds himself cradled in shaking hands, fingers stoking his cheekbones. He’s drowning in bright eyes and he can’t breathe. He wants to trace Yūri’s endless happy wrinkles. His own cheeks hurt and he can feel the weight on his hips, his back, places Yūri had touched him, a year ago, the memory of dancing too hard overlaid with the present.

“Oi, Victor!”

And suddenly, he’s back at the banquet, surrounded by quiet chatter and moving bodies. Yuri’s stalking their way. He thrusts a suit jacket into Victor’s face. “Katsudon disappeared - Oi!” Yūri’s a warm weight on Victor’s back. The Japanese skater props his chin on Victor’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me with your shit, pridurok! I’ve got better things to do!” He snaps as he passes by.

Chris chuckles and the couple shift towards him. For someone suddenly ignored, he doesn’t look terribly put out. He has a warm smile for Victor and winks amicably at Victor’s leech. Yūri just smiles and gives a quiet, satisfied sigh that tickles the side of Victor’s throat. And spends the rest of the evening draped along Victor’s back, arms comfortably clasped around his waist.

Yūri’s quiet and speaks only when necessary. Victor wants to turn, see his face, know what he’s thinking. At the same time, he feels loved and adored and he doesn’t want to stop. Usually, it’s him that can’t stop trying to touch the flighty Yūri. But it seems the tables have turned tonight and maybe, for once, Yūri feels the same thirst for constant contact.

So he savors this feeling and marvels at the novelty of people watching, idle conversation with good friends that come and go. Whatever is on Yūri’s mind, he seems disinclined to do more than hold Victor. He is hyper aware of every moment Yūri shifts his weight, the growing pressure of Yūri’s forearms braced on his hip bones. Yūri’s hands are still, and he has a habit of occasionally rubbing his head against Victor’s skin when no one is around. He never moves his chin and when he talks and laughs, Victor is treated to unexpected strokes of velvet that leaves him smiling and shivering helplessly.

“Love looks good on you.”

Oh, it’s Phichit. The dark-skinned skater is speaking to Yūri, reaching over to flick his forehead. “I can’t believe you managed to hide this from me in America.”

Yūri rolls his eyes and gestures with his free hand. “Phichit…”

“Yes, yes, I know. Victor wasn’t in America.” And somehow Victor finds it in himself to smile even wider, although he can also feel his cheeks heat. “Have another glass, Yūri. You’re too still.”

Yūri laughs, “I refuse. I’ve had two. Sorry, I’m not dancing tonight.”

“Aww.” Phichit’s pout is joined by Chris’ own as he joins them.

Victor can’t resist snarking. “Given you failed to defend my honor last year, are you really in a hurry to lose again?”

“You should be thanking me.” Chris banters back. But they can tell he’s protesting too hard.

—

The party is over by midnight and Victor is more than happy to leave. They take the elevator down to their floor. Yūri is holding his hand, their fingers intertwined. Victor’s never seen him so relaxed off the ice. His hand is warm and there’s a look of expectation on his face. Victor glances at him constantly, feeling himself growing restless with every step. He reaches up and loosens his tie with a sigh of relief. He wants to take his jacket off, the fabric too restrictive to accommodate the ache in his heart, but he knows it won’t be enough, his body is confused and remembering and nothing will ever be enough until he takes all his clothes off.

Yūri seems oblivious to his chaos. He uses his card to unlock their room and pulls them both inside, past the entry, letting the door swing shut, and smoothly pivots Victor around and down on the bedspread.

And clambers onto his lap without a word, smirking at his wide, gobsmacked expression. Victor’s hands automatically come up to press him closer and he was wrong, there was nothing calm and reassuring about being held by Yūri at all; the growing tension he’d been compartmentalizing was going to burn him alive.

He can’t speak, he can barely breathe, he wants so much to conquer and be conquered. He wants to map every inch of Yūri’s skin, find out where the blush ends. He wants Yūri’s eyes to look only at him, to make him submit.

“Is this okay?” Yūri asks quietly. He’s scratching the back of Victor’s head. It feels good and Victor’s heart slows from its breakneck pace. He breathes in deeply, his own fingers wandering up Yūri’s sides, plucking his dress shirt free and letting his fingers touch bare skin. It’s easier to handle now, he can watch the expressions on Yūri’s face and not get caught up in the sense memory.

A different Yūri, a different time. But the same Yūri because he remembers and he’s touching Victor with the confidence of having conquered and his eyes are demanding Victor allow himself to be swept away.

Unable to wait any longer, Victor initiates a kiss, hesitant and clumsy and unable to be anything but because he’s waited for so long and Yūri’s never been quite right. The last twelve months have been an unforgiving emotional rollercoaster, Yūri hot and cold in turns, and he’s so thankful he stayed his course through the terror and the loneliness magnified by being so close, because now he’d die if he had to leave.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, loved and revered for being a reckless fool.

Yūri tilts his head a fraction and opens up. He tightens his grip and lets his tongue explore, delicately learning the shape of Victor’s lips and venturing inside, fingers reflexively tightening with every shiver he sends down Victor’s spine.

Without meaning to, Victor ends up making a small sound, too high to be a moan, but perfectly revealing how much he wants and Yūri takes that as a positive sign to delve even deeper, finding ways to make Victor clutch the soft skin of his waist. His heart’s lost all semblance of control and keeps jackrabbiting in fits and starts, unable to decide whether it wants to hold these feelings close or implode unbearably.

_Nu ti dajosh_! And this was only a kiss.

Yūri draws back. Victor opens his eyes ( _when did they close?_ ). Yūri looks adorably embarrassed and pleased, smoothing the pads of his fingers over Victor’s flushed skin. “I’ve never done this before.” He admits, nerves coloring the want in his body language.

“I-“ Victor has to swallow past the dryness. “I thought that was abysmal, couldn’t you tell?”

Yūri cocks an eyebrow and cups him in retribution, speaking dryly over his startled moan. “Oh?” He smooths his thumb under Victor’s eye ( _when had he closed them again?_ ) and drops a fleeting kiss on his exposed throat.

“Hnngh…” Victor shifts towards the pressure, tilting his head back a little further, “I don’t care. Yūri, please.” Yuri tips them both back into the bedspread. Victor reflexively uses his new position to grind their hips together. How long has it been? He’s so hot and Yūri’s just being mean now. Victor chases after his arousal impatiently.

“You’re so beautiful.” Victor starts at hearing his own thoughts laid bare, staring blindly up at his fiancé. “It’s true.” Yūri says bluntly, continuing to unbutton his shirt. He reaches the bottom and takes advantage of Victor’s flabbergasted state to manhandle him out of his clothes. “I’ve always thought so. I was twelve and you were a fairytale on the screen. I was seventeen and winning Nationals,” Victor inhales sharply at sensation of being touched. Yūri looks endlessly fascinated with his body, tracing the definition in endless loops, but he’s still talking and Victor makes a conscious effort to breathe, straining to keep his own arousal in check. “And all I wanted was to know you.”

Longing loosens his tongue. “I wish I’d known you earlier.” He grabs Yuri’s right hand. “I’ve been missing you all my life.”

For a split second, Yūri looks characteristically scandalized, but his face breaks into a lovesick smile. “And last year, I just wanted a dance with you. I didn’t know you yet but already, you made me so happy. You were the most beautiful person on the floor.”

Oh, his cheeks hurt, his heart was going to fracture; this was unbearable.

“See? You smiled at me and I felt blessed. Can I keep you?”

Victor just nods, head spinning from Yūri’s mercurial nature. He’s slipping again, his past self enamored, his present self in love, so in love he doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a defined role. He’s grateful he’s able to see both Yūri’s intent and his innocence, take and be taken. It’s worse than watching Yūri’s short program. Here between the two of them, Yūri’s sexuality is allowed to be undeveloped, unrestrained.

Unpredictable.

Yūri huffs out an inordinately pleased sound and his hands move firmly over Victor’s shoulders, his biceps, catching his fingers between his own and bringing them up next to Victor’s ears. His eyes never leave Victor’s face and he leans in for another kiss. Victor’s meeting him halfway, already missing his taste and he reaches as deeply as he can. The room is filled with the messy sounds of urgent mouths and strained breathing, broken by the occasional desperate moan. There’s only a hint of finesse in his kisses, he just wants more and there’s no one to impress because Yūri wants him too and Yūri’s always met him once he’s brave enough to drop his guard. Between the two of them, their hunger may never stop mattering.

Yūri’s hips stutter and he growls unexpectedly into Victor’s mouth, fingers unintentionally pressing Victor’s hands into the bedspread. Victor bucks and yelps, kissing Yūri harder, surging against the sudden restraint, but he’s held fast and he can only whine as Yūri breaks their kiss to drop his forehead onto Victor’s, eyes finally closing, his hips shifted a little higher and definitely out of Victor’s reach.

“Y-Yūri….”

“Y-yeah. Sorry. Just….just a minute.” Yūri looks completely apologetic, still breathing hard but soothing Victor with eskimo kisses and chaste pecks feathered all over his nose and cheeks. Victor flexes his fingers achingly, suddenly aware of two points of hard contact, rings warm from their heat. He’s so hard it hurts, but he’s aware of himself again and his lips crook up in delight.

“Did I make you come, Yūri?” He rasps out, nuzzling the soft skin under Yūri’s ear. The shorter male shivers and he breathes out just to feel it again.

“Stop it, Victor!” Comes the half-hearted protest. Victor ignores him and presses his face against skin flushed from both pleasure and mortification. “I-I told you I was new…”

To this, he means. To you, Victor wants him to say. It’s what he would say.

“Aishiteru, Vitya.”

Oh, no. Victor feels himself burn all over, a split second where his entire world narrows down to Yūri’s grip on his waist, their palms in perfect alignment.  _Does he-? How does he do this?_  Victor squirms under an onslaught of lips, teeth, and tongue, restless and heaving.  _He’s going to die, he can’t -_

“Victor,” Yūri releases his right hand and pulls his chin down. His eyes are sweet and secure. “I like it when you look at me.”

Victor makes a garbled sound of distress. In response, Yūri brushes his lips across his hip. The touch is both a comfort and too much. Yūri’s ignoring his body’s request for more. “ _Yūri!_ ” He manages to gasp, curving up, instinctively clutching the other man’s shoulder.

Instead, Yūri licks his way up Victor’s exposed side, the sensation going to his dick and punching out a breathless laughing fit. Yūri suddenly catches his lips, swallowing his unintentional mirth. And he’s finally touching him, pumping his cock firm and slick, and Victor tightens all over. Eyes wide open and drowning, he scrabbles for more, squeezing black strands, heart, voice, legs completely out of his control.

The orgasm takes a lot out of him.

Victor uncurls and collapses, limbs heavy and unexpectedly cold. Thankfully, Yūri simply lets his own body rest beside him. Victor turns and cuddles deeper into his embrace. His eyes hurt and he’s sore all over and he never wants to move and what would be best is if Yūri never moved, either, and he could rest in the shelter of his arms forever. Idly, he realizes his face is wet and he accidentally wipes it off on Yūri’s collar in the process of trying to find and tuck his face into the crook of his fiancé’s shoulder.

Somewhere over him, Yūri shifts urgently. “Victor? What’s wrong? Did I -?”

The tears are coming faster now and he doesn’t care he’s having trouble breathing. He’s never moving again. He’s never losing this again.

But he still has half a mind to explain. “ _You remember_.” He sounds awful, voice cracked and wobbly. He’s never speaking to anyone but Yūri ever again.

Yūri hugs him tightly with his entire body. “Yes. Yes. I’m so sorry.” He keeps talking, soothing all the raw places with gentle words and a stroking hand. “I love you.”

Heart breaking open with joy and relief, Victor starts to cry.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Sorry about that. I’m not a fic writer. After episode 10, I needed catharsis and apparently, VIctor did, too.
> 
> And they lived happily ever after. What, isn't that how episode 11 went?
> 
> Come find me on [my tumblr](http://espritneo.tumblr.com).


End file.
